Children of the Moon
by Marcielle's Musings
Summary: "He was so done. After everything that had happened in the past few months he just wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep for the next millennia. The randomly appearing suitcase could wait till morning."
1. Chapter 1

**Children of the Moon**

**-Marcielle's Musings-**

_"Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!"_

_Dracula by Bram Stoker_

* * *

Arriving at the warehouse where the rave is just starting, Stiles can hear the music blasting from inside the building as he climbs out of the driver's seat of his Jeep. The weight of what his dad had told him before he had left his house to pick up Scott had caused him to be silent the entire drive there, which was unusual for him. Something that Scott had obviously noticed as he asked "You ok?" as Stiles opened up the back of the Jeep to grab the first garbage bag of powdered mountain ash.

"Yeah, why?" Stiles lied.

"It's just, you didn't say anything on the way over here..." Scott replies with a shrug as Stiles stares at him.

"Nah, I'm fine," Stiles lied again, "Would you just grab the other bag?"

"I can't. Remember? Deaton said you have to do it alone," Scott answered as he stared back at Stiles.

Stiles pulls a face. He knows he does. He can feel it – on his face – "Ok, this plan is really starting to suck."

All of a sudden, Scott turns his head away from Stiles and looks towards the door of the warehouse. "No. Not here, not now!" his friend says before he starts running off.

"What? Scott! What am I supposed to..." yells Stiles.

Realising that his friend has ignored _everything_ he just said Stiles shouts at his retreating back, "Ok, plan _officially_ sucks!"

Indignant at being ignored, _yet again_ by Scott, Stiles huffs as he throws the first bag of mountain ash down on the ground and goes back to grab the second bag of powdered mountain ash from the back of his Jeep.

Once the back of the Jeep is closed Stiles used his fingernails and eventually his teeth to rip a small hole in the bottom left corner of the garbage bag. The powdered mountain ash begins to trickle out and Stiles picks up the second garbage bag and starts making his way around the building, a squiggly line trailing behind him like a tail as he walks.

When he reaches the back of the warehouse the first bag is almost empty. Stiles only makes it a few more feet before the last few grains of powdered mountain ash have fallen from the first garbage bag.

'At this rate there won't be enough,' Stiles thinks as he rips a hole in the bottom of the second garbage bag and starts walking again.

It takes another ten minutes for Stiles to get back around to the front of the warehouse again. He can just see the back of his Jeep and the beginning of the line of mountain ash but he can also feel the garbage bag getting lighter and lighter with every step.

'Shit, just a little more! Please be enough' Stiles internally pleads.

Just before he reaches his Jeep, the powder stops flowing from the bag. Lifting the bag up in despair, Stiles places his hand underneath the hole to catch the last trickle that falls from the bag. While shaking the bag to see if any more will magically fall out, it slowly dawns on Stiles that he failed. One thing, that's all he needed to do. Just one thing and he couldn't even do that. Looking at the short distance left to cover, fourteen or fifteen metres at most, Stiles groans.

"Awww, no..." he says, almost in disbelief. To have come this far only to be stopped a few feet away from finishing the barrier.

Frantically, Stiles reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out his cell phone. Unlocking his phone and quickly scrolling down through his contacts, Stiles jabs his finger down on the touch screen the second Scott's name pops up. Scott's contact page pops open on the small screen and Stiles impatiently stabs his finger down on the call button the second it appears on the screen.

Holding the phone up to his ear Stiles whispers, "Come _ON _Scott, Pick _UP!" _while looking around frantically to see if his errant friend was nearby.

The phone rings seven more times before it goes to voicemail.

"Hey, you've reached the voicemail of Scott McCall. Sorry I can't get to the phone right now but if you leave me a message after the beep, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks, bye," Scott's voice floats through the speakers of Stiles' cell.

*beeeeeep* goes the dial tone and Stiles frantically starts talking.

"Scott, pick up. Pick up now," he says as he continues to look around for any sign that his friend is coming. "Look, I got like fifty feet of ash left... and I'm out. Ok? So you gotta get your wolf ass down here to help me, cause I don't know what to do and I'm just standing out here and I'm-"

*bang* A gunshot sounds in the distance.

"and I'm all alone-" Stiles says as he looks around himself even more frantically than before. He can feel the beginnings of a panic attack crawling up on him.

Another gunshot sounds behind him *bang*

"and I'm hearing gunfire... and werewolves and..." Sliles pauses to look around, "and I'm standing here like a friggen idiot all by myself with a handful of magic fairy dust, and I don't have enough...ok?"

Stiles gives up on the message and hangs up. Hopefully Scott will get his message and come help him figure out what the hell he is going to do because at this rate there isn't going to _be _a Supernatural-Force-Field-Of-Awesomeness only a squiggly line of powdered mountain ash around the warehouse that does absolutely _shit all_ to help the Jackson-Is-The-Kanima-OMFG situation.

Yeah... he wasn't dealing as well as he thought he was.

"Ok, come on, think!" Stiles mutters to himself as he puts his phone back in the front pocket of his jeans and looks at the ground he still has to cover.

"Um, ok... He said you gotta believe. Need to _believe_. Come on, BELIEVE, Stiles! Just... just picture it!" Stiles says as he tries to focus on what he's saying as his mind jumps in a million different directions.

Stiles has never hated his ADHD any more than in this moment. He just couldn't pull his thoughts together. It was just typical that in the moment he needed to focus his thoughts would scatter and the most random things would interest him.

Like where was Scott? Why has he run off? Where were the other Sour-Pack-Kids (a.k.a. Erica, Boyd and Isaac) and the Sour-Wolf himself? Has the plan worked? Has Jackson killed someone? And, Oh My God, how was he going to apologise to his dad? Let alone, how was he going to make it up to his dad for pretty much getting him fired? And _how on _earth could one _tiny little _handful of powdered mountain ash manage to make a line long enough to cover nearly fifty feet and complete the barrier?!

And yeah, he probably should have made sure that he had taken his Adderall before he left his place...

'_Focus_, Stiles!' he inwardly yelled at himself as if trying to chastise his thoughts for running away like errant children. And yes, he does know that talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity, _thank you very much_. He had concluded that sanity was overrated years ago.

Staring at the ground in front of him, Stiles focuses on where the line of powdered mountain ash begins, trying to convince his brain that one little handful of pixie dust _can_ cover all that distance. 'Faith, trust and pixie dust... I'm freakin' Peter Pan!' thinks Stiles.

"Just imagine it working. Ok. Just..." Stiles' eyes suddenly cease their wandering and focus on the bumper sticker on one of the nearby cars. That's his ADHD for you – can't stay focused on one thing for more than a minute before flitting off to another thing like a friggen' butterfly. A butterfly in his brain...

'FOCUS, Stiles' he mentally yells at himself.

The bumper sticker is a quote by Albert Einstein: "Imagination is more important than knowledge" is some cool pointy font.

And then it suddenly clicks for Stiles. If werewolves and kanimas were real then so was...

"Magic!" says Stiles as it dawns on him.*

Closing his eyes and breathing a calming breath, Stiles focuses his thoughts.

_"Think of it like gun powder," _Dr. Deaton's voice rings through his head, _"It's just powder until a spark ignites it. You need to be that spark, Stiles."_

_"The best golfers never swing before imagining where they want the ball to go. They see it in their mind and their mind takes over. It can be pretty extraordinary what the force of your own will can accomplish" _finishes Dr. Deaton's voice.

Suddenly a woman's voice chimes within his mind. It's a memory. Of when, he can't remember, but for some reason it resounds within him, making everything just fall in place like pieces of a puzzle that he's been trying to put in the wrong place until someone takes them from him and turns them around and suddenly the piece just _fits._

_"Hey baby," _says the unknown woman's voice as she looked down at him with eyes identical to his own, _"The world is at your fingertips, my child. All you have to do seize it. Be the change you want to see in the world."_

"Be the spark, imagine where you want it to go, visualise it in your mind, and believe it. Be the change you want to see in the world," chants Stiles in his head and suddenly the jumble of thoughts bombarding his brain just... stops. It's like the quiet after a storm. It's peaceful. It's focused and suddenly Stiles eyes are open again and he's walking forward with a determined look on his face.

Slowly the powdered mountain ash trickles out of his clenched fist. Breathing deeply and evenly, Stiles doesn't think about how scientifically this shouldn't work, how it should be impossible. All he thinks about is the two lines of ash connecting to form a protective circle around the warehouse. He can see it in his mind. He can feel a heavy, sort of energy in the air buzzing and whispering in his ears like a soft breeze but the air is still.

Stiles doesn't look at the powder slowly falling out of his hand as he walks forward. He only watches where he has to go. Closing his eyes once more Stiles visualises the two lines meeting just as the last few grains of mountain ash trickles out of his hand. Opening his eyes, Stiles looks up in frustration.

'Were you actually thinking that it would work?' Stiles mentally asks himself as he wipes his now empty hand on his jeans.

Looking down though, Stiles' jaw dropped. The lines were connected! The barrier was complete. Stiles looked amazed, like he couldn't believe that it had worked. In a way he still didn't believe that it had worked even though he knew it had.

"Hahaha, " Stiles laughed in shock as he stared at the completed circle with a huge face-splitting grin.

"Yes!" he shouts, throwing both of his arms in the air in celebration. He'd done it.

Pumping his fist in success, Stiles leaped up onto the back of a nearby car only to scramble back off as the car's alarm went off.

He had done it.

* * *

Unfortunately his little success at his first attempt at magic has been the only high of the night. From there everything had gone downhill. Once he has completed the super-awesome-mountain-ash-supernatural-keep-away-barrier he had gone to check up on how subduing Jackson was coming along only to find two thirds of the Sour Pack Kids in a back room with Jackson half unconscious. Only for Jackson, or well _not_ Jackson to wake up and break Isaac's wrist, scare the crap out of them, start tuning into a lizard-man and then break through a wall to go murder the next person.

Meanwhile, it turns out that Scott had gotten kidnapped and was dying, according to Derek. His best friend was _dying_. So Derek had him _break_ the barrier so he could go save Scott. He was glad that Derek was going to save Scott but it was beginning to seem that nothing he did actually helped...

Isaac, Erica and Stiles had waited anxiously for Derek to return, dragging Scott along with him. Derek had then demanded the keys to Stiles' Jeep so he could take Scott to Dr. Deaton because Boyd had taken his car and once Derek had left, Isaac and Erica had split, not sticking around to find out what Jackson had done, leaving Stiles at the rave to wait for his dad to pick him up. He was definitely going to win the award for 'worst son on the planet' this year.

After a very awkward (understatement!) car ride back to his house with his dad where the only thing his dad had said to him the entire ride home was to ask where his Jeep was.

Stiles had to yet again lie to his dad and say that he had let Scott take his Jeep home earlier because he had gotten upset at seeing Alison with Matt at the rave. His dad had just nodded and continued to drive home in silence.

When Stiles and his dad finally got home, Stiles tromped up the stairs, walked into his room, closed the door and was about to face-plant himself onto his bed when he noticed an old leather suitcase sitting innocently on his bed.

Stiles blinked. He had never seen the suitcase before in his life. It was a pretty big one; more like one of those trunks out of Harry Potter than any suitcase he had seen.

Stumbling over to the bed, Stiles sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the suitcase as if staring at it would force it to reveal its secrets.

He was _so_ done. After everything that had happened in the past few months he just wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep for the next millennia. The randomly appearing suitcase could wait till morning.

With that, Stiles grabbed the suitcase at either end and lifted it off his bed with a grunt and carried it over to his desk where he placed it on the ground next to it. It had felt pretty light so there couldn't be much in it. He would check it out in the morning.

Little did Stiles know, that his life would never be the same again.

**End of chapter notes:**

* I do know that what Stiles said in the actual episode was "Imagine" but I tweaked it. And _yes,_ I can do that! Creative licence and all that jazz.


	2. Chapter 2

**Children of the Moon**

**-Marcielle's Musings-**

_"Books are a uniquely portable magic"_

_Stephen King_

* * *

"Nnnnnnggg," groaned Stiles as the sunlight streamed through his bedroom window and bitch slapped him in the face, automatically waking him from his hibernation.

Stiles blearily opened his sleep-crusted eyes and stared around his room. Looking over at his phone on his bedside table Stiles checked the time. The screen showed 7:24am.

"Noooo, too early," Stiles groaned as he flopped over and burrowed under the covers. He wasn't ready to face the day yet. He just wanted a few more years of rest before he had to tackle the events of last night.

In one evening Stiles had found out that he was pretty much responsible for his dad losing his job and that he could do magic; real magic, not any of that pull a rabbit out of a hat crap. Jackson had escaped and killed someone again and whoever was controlling Jackson thought that they had been murdered (Stiles did not even want to touch the logistics of _that _one). And Scott had almost died. He didn't know how and he didn't know why someone had tried to kill Scott. To be completely honest, he had no fucking idea what had happened last night. Oh, and an antique suitcase had magically appeared on his bed, too. How was this his life?!

First things first; find out if his best friend was even alive.

Popping his head out of his blanket cocoon, Stiles grabbed for his phone. Pulling it beneath the covers Stiles unlocked it and began flipping through his contacts until he reached Scott.

**Me: **You better not be dead or I'm gonna have to steal some wolfsbane bullets from the Argents so I can shoot Derek in the ass with them for not saving you in time.

Stiles curled up in a ball as he waited for a reply. Thankfully he didn't have to wait long.

**Scott:** hahaha, no I'm not dead J You can shoot Derek in the ass anyway ;) I would love to see the look on his face if you did.

**Scott: **btw Derek doesn't know how to stop Jackson. I think he's hiding something from us too.

Stiles laughed at Scott's first text. He wouldn't mind seeing the look on Derek's face if he shot him in the ass. It would probably be hilarious. Problem would be escaping _after_ he shot the Alpha in the ass because sure as hell, Derek would be trying to rip his throat out with his very sharp and pointy teeth.

Seeing the second message though, dampened his good mood. It succeeded in reminding him what a fucked up situation he's stuck in. Stiles hesitated for a second before he began typing out his reply.

**Me: **Not that surprised that Derek has no clue what to do. Also not that surprised he's hiding something. He's not exactly the most communicative person on the planet unless you count growling as a form of communication.

**Me: **grrrrrr ;)

Scott's reply was almost instant.

**Scott: **Ha :D You would make an excellent werewolf ;) You going to Lydia's party tonight? Never mind, of course you are!

Stiles blinked in shock. After everything that had happened he had almost forgotten Lydia's party! Sure he had found the time to get her like a million gifts a few weeks ago. He had figured that if she didn't like one of the gifts then there would be others that she would like. But to be honest, all this supernatural crap was taking over his life and he hadn't even thought about Lydia's party since he bought the gifts. Lydia's party just didn't seem as important as stopping Jackson from murdering more people and finding out who was controlling him. Plus tonight was a full moon...

'Was Scott insane?! Does he seriously think it would be a good idea to go to a party on the full moon?! No, wait, of course he does!' Stiles thought furiously and he clambered out of bed, 'He's already done it before. Why not again? I mean it's not like there's a freakin kanima and a whole pack of werewolves roaming the town!'

As much as he normally would have liked to go to Lydia's party, there was too much going on that was more important.

"Like finding a way to stop Jackson for example," mumbled Stiles as he rummaged through his drawers, grabbing some clean briefs, a blue t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Throwing the clean clothes on his bed, Stiles scooped up his phone and jotted off a quick message for Scott.

**Me:** Yeah, I don't think I'll be going to Lydia's party. Too much to do. Btw, do you think you could swing round here before you go so I can give you the gift I got for her? Tell her I'm sorry I couldn't make it.

With the message sent, Stiles grabbed the clothes off his bed and headed for the upstairs bathroom. He was in desperate need of a shower. He was pretty sure he smelled like a mix of wet dog, sweaty teenager, slimy lizard-thing and a shit load of guilt and anxiety. Stripping down once inside the bathroom, Stiles looked at his reflection in the mirror above the small basin. He looked half-dead. There were huge bruise-like circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep and stress.

Shaking his head and shifting his eyes away from his traitorous reflection Stiles stepped over the rim of the bath, turned on the hot water and flicked the nozzle which directed the water up to the shower head. As the water cascaded down on him, Stiles tried to force himself to relax. Yes, there was a lot to do but it could all wait until he had finished cleaning off the grime of the last battle against the supernatural. He deserved a chance to just... relax for like five minutes before he began thinking about all the things he needed to research and problems he had to solve because apparently not even Derek had a clue how to stop the Jackson from killing again.

Steam billowed around him like a warm blanket of fog as Stiles reached for the soap and began to lather up his chest, abdomen, arms and legs. Once the suds had been washed away by the steady beat of the hot water, Stiles grabbed the shampoo from the hanging basket-thingy that dangled from the shower head and squirted a healthy dollop into his palm.

As the hot water massaged his sore muscles and Stiles rubbed the shampoo into his short hair he was beginning relax. He didn't really want to leave this cocoon of warmth but as the last suds of shampoo went down the drain Stiles forced himself to shut off the water and step out of the tub into the now fogged up bathroom.

Grabbing a towel from the rack across from the toilet, Stiles wrapped it around himself and began drying off. Once he was fully dry he slipped on the pair of briefs and pulled the t-shirt over his head. Snagging the jeans he slipped those on too before hanging up his towel on the back of the bathroom door and walking back to his room. No more relaxing, it was time to get stuff done.

Walking into his bedroom Stiles picked up his phone from his bed and checked to see if he had gotten a reply from Scott. He had and it was such a typical _Scott _message that Stiles almost shook his head in disgust.

**Scott: **WHAT?! O.O

**Scott: **Who are you and what have you done with my friend?! You, miss Lydia's party? Is the world ending? Are you dying? Is your _dad_ dying?! SPEAK TO ME!

Stiles couldn't believe how stupid Scott could be sometimes. Don't get him wrong, he loved the fool like a brother but... gods... he was an idiot sometimes.

Flinging himself into his desk chair and spinning around, Stiles noticed the suitcase that had randomly appeared on his bed last night sitting innocently on the floor next to his desk.

'Might as well' thought Stiles with a shrug as he placed his phone on his desk and leaned down to grab the suitcase before plonking it down on his bed in the same place it had been the night before.

Stiles stared at the old, battered leather suitcase for a few moments before pointing at it in a dramatic fashion and shouting, "REVEAL THY SECRETS TO ME, OH ENCHANTED LEATHER BOX!"

As expected, nothing happened.

"Well that is a complete let down," breathed out Stiles with a huff, "You are definitely not playing up to your role as the magically appearing suitcase."

Giving up on trying to talk the suitcase into opening itself (It could happen!) Stiles rolled his desk chair towards his bed and began fiddling with the latches on the suitcase. It wouldn't open.

Suddenly Stiles felt a pinch on both of his fingers that were on the latches. Stiles quickly pulled his hands away from the suitcase with a yelp and inspected his fingers. On the tip of both pointer fingers there was a small cut and a drop of blood welled from each incision.

"It BIT me!" gaped Stiles as he stared at the offending suitcase. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Who had sent him a magically appearing, biting suitcase?

"Oh My God, Mad-Eye Moody is trying to kill me!" shouted Stiles. Looking up at his ceiling Stiles pleaded, "If you're listening Mr. Moody, Sir, I swear I am not a member of the Dark Lord's forces..."

When no reply was forthcoming, Stiles went back to staring at the biting suitcase. It didn't _look_ particularly magical or bitey... It just looked like an antique brown leather suitcase, like the ones he had seen in black and white movies. So where had it come from and why wouldn't it open?

It was then, that he noticed that the latches holding the suitcase closed were unlatched.

"Oookkk, magically appearing, biting suitcase that opens by itself... Sure, that's completely normal," muttered Stiles.

This was becoming way too Harry Potter for his liking. He already had enough on his plate with a pack of hormonal teenage werewolves, a family of hunters, a hormonal teenage kanima and his murderous master. He really didn't need more supernatural shit in his life. He had quite enough, thank you. So really, the universe could take its extra supernatural shit and shove it. He was quite happy without it.

"This so better not make me regret doing this," groaned Stiles as he reached forward and flipped open the lid to the suitcase.

Thankfully, no one was hurt in the opening of the magically appearing, biting suitcase.

Inside, the suitcase looked much larger than it did on the outside and half of it was filled with musty old books and what looked like leather bound notebooks. The other half was filled with jars with different types of plants in them, a collection of different coloured silk bags with stones, cubes of wood, feathers and powders in them, other bits and bobbles and a small pot that looked like a little witch's cauldron. However, lying innocently on top of all the other contents of the suitcase was an envelope addressed to him in his _mother's handwriting..._

With a trembling hand Stiles reached forward and grabbed the envelope. Lifting it to his face, he realised he could still small his mother's favourite perfume on the envelope. Flipping the envelope over, Stiles hesitantly ripped open the envelope. Apparently the magically appearing biting suitcase was from his mom... He wasn't sure if he wanted to read what was inside the envelope or not. Making up his mind, Stiles pulled out the folded up pieces of lined paper inside and began to read.

_Hello darling,_

_Yes, sweetie, it's me; Mom and if you're reading this it means that my sickness got the best of me and I am dead. I'm sorry that I have put so much strain on both you and your father in the last few months but know that I love you both with all of my heart and though I may be dead, I will always watch over you both._

_Now, onto the purpose of this letter and my gift._

_I started making this suitcase for you the moment I found out I was pregnant. I didn't know whether you would be a boy or a girl, have my eyes or your father's. All I knew was that someday, I hoped you would need the contents of this suitcase and I could begin sharing my side of the family's history with you. You see, my son, I am a wytch or in modern terms, a witch. As was my mother, my aunts and uncles, my grandmother, my great grandmother and great grandfather and so on. This gift is passed down from generation to generation, growing stronger with every new birth._

_This suitcase, I figured would be filled with everything you could ever need to learn and hone your skills in magick. You see in order to perform magic a person must have three components: a connection with the energy of the world, energy of their own, and an instigator. From birth you had a connection to the energy of the world and had energy of your own. It's what made you so full of energy all the time. All you were missing was an instigator. Look at it like this: You had plenty of wood for a fire but all you were missing was the spark to ignite it._

_Recently, you have found that spark otherwise my gift would not have appeared to you. I had hidden away this suitcase in the attic of your grandmother's (my mother) house with a spell on it tied to you so that if you ever did perform magic it would come to you. _

_Unfortunately, you never performed any magic while I was alive, so I will not get to teach you in person. Instead I have created a set of journals outlining your first five years of training. The first journal is the brown leather bound one with a crow embossed on the front. You should read this one first; it will guide you on your journey._

_I am so proud of you. I wish I could have been there for you but unfortunately fate had other plans. I love you with all my heart my little sparrow._

_Love, _

_Your Mother _

Stiles was pretty sure he was in shock. Tears were sliding down his face unchecked and all he could think was 'Why hadn't I performed magic sooner?' because then his mum could have taught him what he needed to know. She wouldn't have had to hide part of herself from her own family...

His ADHD, according to his mum wasn't actually ADHD, it was the excess energy he hadn't used because he hadn't had the 'spark' to ignite it. His father had been the one to take him to the doctors to be tested for ADHD after his mother had died. So it made sense. Did this mean he didn't need to take Adderall anymore now that the energy would supposedly have somewhere to go now that he could do magic?

Would Scott be able to tell he was a wytch? Would Derek and the pack?

Was Dr. Deaton a wytch? Was that why he had told him that _he_ would have to be the one to make the mountain ash barrier at the rave last night?

Would he put out some sort of beacon that identified him as a supernatural creature thereby making hunters want to kill him?

Did his dad know about his mom being a wytch?

Could his newfound magic help him defeat the kanima?

So many questions were running through his brain like wildfire and the only answer Stiles had was that no, he didn't regret opening the suitcase but his life had just become 110% more complicated.


End file.
